certainty just yet, but, my first impression is that this is the handwriting of John Milton.”
“Couldn’t it be a forgery, Uncle?” Calvin asked. “John Milton was blind when he dictated the poem to his daughters. It’s impossible that he could have written this with no sight whatsoever.”
Their uncle sighed. “You’re correct, Calvin. He was indeed blind at the time Paradise Lost was supposedly written and published. If this is actually his handwriting, therefore, it follows that he wrote this particular manuscript no later than 1652, before he lost his sight. That’s at least fifteen years earlier than the publishing date of 1667; but I have studied his work for a large portion of my adult life, and I feel almost certain that this is in fact his hand.”
Natalie looked skeptical. “There are incredibly talented forgers out there, Uncle. They have ingenious ways of fooling even the most talented authenticators.”
“Believe me, I am well aware of that,” he replied. “I have personally caught out many of the scoundrels. I may be a little past my prime, but I still have my wits about me, and I am nearly convinced that you and your brother are in possession of the original.”
Natalie looked slightly abashed. “I certainly didn’t mean to suggest you were losing your touch, Uncle. I just wondered how you can know, just by looking at it.”
“I understand, mon cher, and I take no offense. You’re a scientist, and I know scientists are more comfortable with tangible proofs. Being an authenticator, I too use science to try and prove something is real or fake. But one thing I can tell you, and many of my colleagues will agree with me, I assure you, is that one’s first impression very often proves correct. When you’ve been tracking down forgeries all your life and you suddenly come across the real thing, it becomes instinctual, and you just know. Of course, there are always exceptions, and I’ve made my share of mistakes, but in general, you can trust your instincts … especially when they are as finally honed as mine!” he concluded, winking mischievously.
Natalie nodded. “I understand what you mean about instincts. When I’m doing investigative journalism, I often know when I’m on the right track, without any real reason, at times. It’s just a gut feeling. And other times,” she frowned, struggling to explain her point, “sometimes, I almost feel as if I’m being guided.”
“Very good,” her uncle smiled. “I’d hate to think that you or your brother didn’t trust those feelings. They’ve always served me well. However, now that I’ve given you my first impression, I think it’s best if we study this document in greater detail. Let’s take it to the table and delve into this most beautiful poem.”
~
Calvin brought three pairs of the cotton gloves to the table.
“I see you’ve taken the right precautions,” Uncle Julien commented with approval.
“Well, we don’t want to go down in history as the buffoons who destroyed the original copy of Paradise Lost,” replied Calvin.
“No, no, the Romarins are protectors of old knowledge, not destroyers. We always have been,” he replied vaguely, donning the protective gloves.
Natalie looked startled at his remark. “That’s what Uncle Richard used to say.”
Uncle Julien grasped his niece and nephew’s hands. “When I first brought you to this house,” he began, “I knew I was doing the right thing. Between the two of us, I was the most ill-suited to raise children. My lifestyle was far too cosmopolitan for all that, and I was too selfish to relinquish it, though I love you both so dearly. But Richard has always been the rock of our family. When I say we are protectors of old knowledge, I mean all of the Romarins, including your ancestors; but my brother has always had the highest ideals, and was the most dedicated to the notions of truth and honor.”
Calvin nodded his agreement. “But back to the poem,” he said. “What’s so important about Paradise Lost?”
“You mean besides being what many consider the greatest epic poem in the English language?” their uncle asked rhetorically. “Well! To begin with, it’s more than just a religious poem describing man’s fall from grace. Much more! It’s also a political activist’s defense of the English Civil War, and the subsequent execution of Charles I. John Milton felt, like many others of his day, that the Church of England was moving back towards Catholicism, which as you know, didn’t sit well with a lot of people. Queen Mary’s bloody reign was still fresh in their minds, no doubt, and the Inquisition was in full effect in other parts of Europe. Milton himself supposedly visited Galileo in Florence, who was under house arrest because of his supposedly anti-Papal beliefs. Further, Milton didn’t believe that kings were ordained by God. He felt they were ordinary men who were placed on or taken off the throne by ordinary men.”
Calvin listened to his uncle with great eagerness. Julien had a way of making history come alive for him. “Go on,” he urged rather impatiently, when his uncle paused in his narrative for a moment, gathering his thoughts.
Pleased to have such avid listeners, Julien continued. “AlthoughParadise Lost is certainly a poem of its times, it is even more important to remember that it was truly a metaphysical poem. The political underpinnings are important, to be sure, but they aren’t what the poem was most winningly trying to convey. “
Uncle Julien put his fingertips together as he gazed down at the document lying open before him.“I’ve always felt that this poem had a special meaning for John Milton, aside from the religious and political aspects of it.”
“I agree,” said Natalie fervently. “I sometimes felt, when I read his work, that Milton had sympathy for the devil —in a matter of speaking, that is.”
“He certainly humanizes Satan in his poem,” added their uncle, “but Milton was a Puritan, don’t forget. Aside from that, to my mind at least, he was a radical thinker.”
Calvin had been gently turning the pages of the manuscript and scanning the neat, but curiously jaunty script. “Listen to this line,” he said. “It’s when Eve was being convinced by Satan to succumb to temptation.”
“O sacred, wise, and wisdom-giving plant, Mother of science, now I feel thy power Within me clear, not only to discern Things in their causes, but to trace the ways Of highest agents, deem’d however wise”
“I can’t help but feel that if I were in Eve’s position,” Natalie remarked, “I’d fall for Satan’s offer too. I mean, I’ve spent the last ten years of my life trying to derive wisdom from plants. What’s wrong with that?” she wondered.
“Nothing now, my dear,” her uncle answered. “We’ve already fallen. We cannot squander the gift of knowledge we have received, however ill-gotten it was.”
“What we need to do is to tackle this thing logically,” Calvin said briskly. “We’ve got to read the text from beginning to end.”
“I propose we take turns,” said Natalie. “Let’s make ourselves comfortable, and read the whole thing aloud.”
The next few days were spent pleasantly, reading the beautiful blank-verse of John Milton. Mrs. Murphy kept them well supplied with tea and simple but satisfying meals. The reading was slow-going, because either Natalie or Calvin transcribed what was read
